Portraits in Plaster, from the Collection of Laurence Hutton

In Short

This book is a curated gallery of plaster masks—taken from the living or the dead—representing figures ranging from William Shakespeare and Oliver Cromwell to Abraham Lincoln and William Thackeray. Rather than offering dry phrenological analysis, the narrative provides biographical context for each subject, focusing on the circumstances of their death or the specific conditions under which their features were captured. It has lasted as a unique historical record, capturing the transient expressions of famous individuals and detailing the often-fraught processes required to immortalize their likenesses in a medium as fragile as the subjects themselves.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book functions as a slow, deliberate procession through a gallery of mortality. It begins not with an argument, but with a meditation on the nature of the face as a reflection of the mind, acknowledging the tension between the physical lines of the body and the internal spirit. The opening movement explores the masks of poets and playwrights, specifically focusing on the debated authenticity of the Kesselstadt mask of Shakespeare. The author navigates the murky waters of relic-hunting, contrasting the mythic status of these figures with the messy, often clandestine reality of taking a cast from a bust or a corpse.

As the collection moves forward, the tone shifts from literary reverence to a more visceral engagement with the historical figures. The author documents the quiet, often painful final moments of people like the Prussian Queen Louise or the composer Mendelssohn, whose features in death were described by observers as possessing a "glorified" tranquility. The narrative then turns to the political and the powerful, such as Mirabeau and Marat, whose bodies were treated with varying degrees of reverence or desecration as political tides turned. The author notes, with a touch of irony, how these figures were "de-Pantheonized," their remains moved or lost, mirroring the instability of their plaster effigies.

The middle section of the book is defined by the weight of personal loss. The author writes of his own friends, such as the actor Lawrence Barrett, with a vulnerability that highlights the gap between the cold, white mask and the warm, living person he once knew. This leads into accounts of great writers like Thackeray, whose death-mask captures a physical exhaustion that contradicts the vitality of his public reputation. The narrative also examines the physical remnants of the Romantic poets, including Keats, whose life-mask remains a testament to the "singular beauty" of a life cut short, while noting the frustration of not knowing the later history of such precious items.

The latter portion of the work deals with the American political experience, contrasting the greatness of leaders like Washington, Jefferson, and Calhoun with the often-haphazard ways their likenesses were captured. The author details the near-suffocation of Jefferson during a plaster session, a vivid reminder of the physical danger inherent in this art form. The book concludes by surveying the varied legacies of figures like Cromwell and Frederick the Great, whose masks serve as final, silent witnesses to their respective historical impacts. The ending is not a resolution, but a lingering sense of presence; the masks remain, despite the "wretched futurity" of their owners, as markers of individuals who once occupied the world and were, for a moment, held fast in stone.

How It Unfolds

The philosophical premise The author sets the stage by contrasting the claims of physiognomy with the simple necessity of documentation. He clarifies that his interest lies not in judging the character of these men and women through their "bumps," but in presenting how they appeared to the world at the end of their lives.

The search for the poet The text delves into the mystery of Shakespearean masks, specifically the Kesselstadt relic. It examines the lengths to which admirers have gone to secure authentic portraits, highlighting the tension between historical evidence and the romantic desire for a tangible connection to genius.

The intimacy of grief A significant beat involves the author’s personal reflection on the masks of his friends, such as Lawrence Barrett. This introduces a poignant, subjective element where the mask becomes a tool for mourning rather than a mere curiosity for the collector.

The displacement of the great The narrative tracks the physical movement of remains, such as those of Mirabeau and Cromwell. By tracing where these faces—and the masks taken from them—have traveled, the author emphasizes the fragility of fame and the irony of how physical legacies are discarded or lost to time.

The struggle for preservation The final section recounts the difficult, sometimes dangerous, process of creating these masks. Through anecdotes like the near-suffocation of Thomas Jefferson, the author illustrates that the pursuit of the "true" likeness was often an ordeal for the subject, stripping away the dignity of the office to reveal the vulnerable, suffering human underneath.

The People

Laurence Hutton acts as the patient curator of this gallery, balancing his role as a collector with a deep, often sentimental regard for the humanity of his subjects. His voice is that of a man who respects the privacy of the dead while feeling a duty to preserve their physical history. He is frequently hampered by the lack of documentation surrounding these masks, leading him on a detective’s journey through museums and private collections.

Henry Booth appears as a foundational figure in the author’s life, a man of prestige whose circle of friends, including Lawrence Barrett, forms the emotional core of the text. Barrett is presented as a tragic, noble figure, whose death-mask serves as a painful reminder of a "gentle spirit" lost to the "Land of Shadows." The contrast between Barrett’s "stately head" and the silent plaster copy illustrates the author's primary conflict: the desire to keep these people close versus the reality that the mask is only a cold shell.

The historical figures, such as Thomas Jefferson and Daniel Webster, are presented through the eyes of contemporary witnesses. Jefferson is portrayed as a man of great patience, almost losing his life to a sculptor’s ambition, while Webster is described by his peers with a mixture of awe and sharp wit. These figures want to be remembered for their contributions, but they are subject to the caprice of the artists who sought to capture them—artists like Browere, who viewed these icons as subjects to be captured at any cost, even at the risk of the subject’s safety.

In Its Own Voice

“The subject-matter of the volume may not be considered very cheerful reading, but I feel that to those to whom the work appeals at all it will appeal strongly as an unique portrait gallery of men and women of all countries and of many ages, distinguished in many walks of life.”

In his introduction, the author prepares the reader for the somber nature of his collection, justifying the focus on death-masks as a pursuit of historical truth.

“It is not pleasant to look upon the face of Thackeray—the face of which we love to think so pleasantly—as distorted by death.”

The author expresses the central anxiety of his project: that the reality of the death-mask may clash with the idealized, living image of a beloved literary hero.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an meditation on the persistence of physical identity in the face of oblivion. It explores the tension between the public persona—the "great man" or "great woman"—and the final, unvarnished truth of the corpse. The author is preoccupied with the question of whether a mask can truly capture a soul, or if it merely records the silence that follows when the mind is gone. There is a persistent curiosity about the provenance of these objects, suggesting that the value of the mask lies not just in the face it portrays, but in the chain of custody that proves one has touched the same object that once rested against a historical giant.

Why Read It Today

This book is a quiet, contemplative read for those interested in the history of portraiture, the mechanics of nineteenth-century collecting, or the physical reality of the famous deceased. It possesses a strange, haunting quality, as if one were walking through a dusty, forgotten wing of a Victorian museum. The prose is warm and personal, though the author’s tendency to rely on anecdotes and secondary accounts can make the narrative feel like a scrapbook.

Readers should be prepared for the period-specific attitudes, particularly the reliance on phrenology and the sometimes detached, analytical way the author discusses the "de-Pantheonization" of revolutionaries or the physical decay of poets. The book does not shy away from the gruesome, yet it is never exploitative; it treats these masks with the same reverence one might show a prayer book. While some of the specific historical debates—such as the validity of the Kesselstadt mask—have been superseded by modern forensic analysis, the value of the text lies in its documentation of how people once felt about the faces of their heroes. It remains a fascinating artifact of the Victorian obsession with the material remains of the past, offering a bridge between the living reader and the silent, plaster-cast dead.